The Mask of the Red Death: Braziers and Carnage
by Epouvantard444
Summary: A servant of the great prince witnesses the horror of the Red Death. Will he too be victim to the carnage that befell the great lords and ladies of the hall? A different take on Edgar Allen Poe's short story: The Masque of the Red Death.


The 13th Day in the Tenth Month, in the 1348th Year of our Lord.

A terrible curse was laid upon us the day the castle shut its doors. The blue sky mocked the victims who tore upon the cast-iron gates, screaming for mercy from the uncaring nobles. It was appalling to watch as the nobles laughed at their people who begged for help from their leaders as, one by one, the Red Death claimed them. And after the screams of the serfs died down, the soldiers who were promised the safety of seclusion of the abbey were locked out of the halls, left to succumb to the same fate of the people who they were previously charged to keep from within the halls. The front gates of the castle were smeared with the blood of the innocent, yet deep within our fortress, the condemned were left untarnished.

The revelers feasted and sang, enjoying their sins, while their prince was more bothered about the next party than the pestilence raging outside of the seclusion of his stone prison. I watched all of this in a state of disgust. I guess I was to be grateful that I was one of the few who were saved, but really, to be honest, I was just as despicable as the nobles within.

I spent most of my days in this voluntary jail working within the chambers, bringing the noble guests their food and wine. I was barely noticed, as the revelers did not spare a thought about me, even if I was one of the last surviving peasants.

When I was not needed, I would go to the west room and sit next to the grand ebony clock, and stare out the window next to it, watching as the villages in the distance grew less lifelike, until only skeletons remained of the once healthy places. Yet even as the clock ticked its low and melancholy rhythm, I could not help but feel that we would not leave unpunished for our selfishness.

The day that our Prince ordered the servants to decorate the halls in such a grand and twisted way, there was much excitement as to the duties among the servants. Though banquets were not an unusual thing, those that served in the halls were generally allowed to partake in the festivities after most of the nobles had had become too intoxicated to care. As it was a costumed ordeal, the entire household would be made to dress in the most peculiar of garbs. We each had to determine our duties, and we were to draw straws, with the one who drew last to be charged with the most unpleasant of the tasks. With the luck that seems to evade me, I was charged with lighting the braziers that were to light the halls on the outside of the party, meaning that no delicacy would be spared for me.

That night, I stood atop the balcony outside of the windows, precariously moving back and forth from brazier to brazier, keeping the flames lit as the party raged within. I Stared in at the rooms beyond, watching the occupants dance within the halls, looking more like ghosts than anything. The easternmost rooms seemed to be the most popular, with most of the guests congregating at those ends, whereas toward the western halls, the guests thinned and finally parted.

In the last room, the brazier cast a scarlet glow into the ebony room, throwing ghastly shadows on even the simplest of the things. No one occupied this room, save for a lone man who sat next to the ebony clock, minding his own. His face was thrown into shadow by the sharp relief of the scarlet light bleeding through the panes.

I was relighting this particular brazier when the clock chimed its melancholy toll to signal the arrival of the twelfth hour. I had dropped one of the matches I used for lighting the candles, and bent to pick it up when I had noticed that the figure who had resided quietly in the room was passing close to the window in order to enter into the other halls.

The scarlet light of the candelabra illuminated the person as he passed beneath its glare, and I will never forget what I saw. The figure was cloaked in midnight black with tattered shrouds trailing from his arms and legs. The pale hands were covered in a thin layer of skin that stretched across the gnarled bones, taking upon the appearance of a spider. And yet, it was not any of this that frightened me, as the costumes that the other nobles bore were of an even more bizarre range. It was the face that locked my terrified gaze. The visage was not that of a human, but more or less that of a corpse; the skin was a pale white, and beneath it the skull and eye shadows could be seen, showing the toll of hunger and sickness upon the victim. The mouth was curved inwards, with teeth marks on the lips signifying the uncontrolled pain and frenzy that had fallen upon the dying man. The hair was lank and black, but there was no good measure to it. Blood was matted into the hair, and the remainder of the thick liquid silently oozed about the face. The eyes, surrounded by black sockets, were tinged with a dark vermillion, and the irises were an unfathomable and threatening onyx, portraying a haunted look in the dead man's eyes.

I reeled back from the window, trying to get away from the figure, blindly groping for anything that could shield me from the creature, and yet as my hands flew over my eyes, I saw the apparition pass from the room into the next hall.

It was foolish of me, but I followed it, a horrible curiosity taking hold of my senses. As it passed from room to room, the world around the man seemed to stop, and all the masquerading nobles stared with undisguised fear at the creature.

At the easternmost hall, the thing stopped, and stared at the crowded yet deathly silent room. The Prince, at the far end of the chamber, stared at the new arrival with a mixture of fear and disgust, then as if coming to his senses, composed himself, and shouted something to his guests. When none responded, he ran at the figure drawing a thin bladed dagger.

The corpse figure turned and fled, seeming to glide from the rooms, heading, inevitably for the last, and most terrible room. I ran alongside the halls, watching through the windows as the Prince chased the invader.

In the last room, the creature turned on the Prince as it came within the shadow of the ebony clock, and in that moment, the Prince unmistakably screamed, and fell to the ground, his arms stiffening in rigormortis as blood pored from his plagued body. His fellow nobles rushed into the room and gathered in a circle around the unknown figure and their now dead prince, until bravely they all attacked the newcomer. But even as I watched, the moment they touched the wraith, they screamed in agony as they too began to bleed from the plague that they had, for so long, sought to escape from.

And yet as the entire party expired before the ebony clock, my eyes were drawn to those of Death, who stared at me, his terrible eyes boring into my own. I was transfixed by him, and as I gazed upon him in his devilish glory, he threw is head back and started to laugh a menacing cackle that dripped with ice and a mirthless humor. Then, suddenly, he vanished.

I stared at the carnage inside the room, gazing at the spot where Death had stood, when suddenly I felt a presence beside me. Turning slowly, but wishing not to see, I gazed upon Death who stood next to me, staring pitilessly into my face, his eyes a deadly mask, a small grin playing about his decrepit mouth.

"You want me?" I managed to choke out. I was to die. It was plain in his eyes.

"One day," he said softly, the whispered words barely audible, than he turned and blew out the light of the seventh brazier, leaving me alone on the balcony with nothing but the penetrating silence of the dead night to comfort me.


End file.
